


war of hearts

by capulets



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Death lots of death, F/M, Full Blown Reincarnation AU, Idiots In Love Across Time, Only Ever JJ Or Kiara Though, if that helps, sometimes both
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capulets/pseuds/capulets
Summary: once in a lifetime, you meet the person you’re destined to be with. if you’re kiara carrera and jj maybank, you get seven lifetimes instead.or, alternatively, kiara falls in love with jj. over and over and over again. the reincarnation au literally nobody asked for.(jiara week day three: au day)
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32
Collections: Jiara July Jubilee





	war of hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I’m posting this really late where I am but it’s still technically (read: barely) day three so here it is! I’ve been kicking this idea around in my mind since the Jiara July prompts were announced. At first I was gonna do a TLM AU but decided to switch it last minute to a reincarnation au. Not gonna lie it’s definitely terrifying trying this out but I actually planned most of it, so here’s to actually updating and getting ish done! I apologies for any historical or mythological inaccuracies; I took a few liberties because... creative license. But I have/am actively researching and adjusting as I go along. I’m off to catch up on all the lovely content y’all have been dropping (everything I’ve read so far is amazing!). As always, thank you for checking this out and enjoy.
> 
> XOXO,
> 
> capulets

_ PROLOGUE: SEA AND STARS _

Long ago, in the land before time, the gods lived at the top of the world. Mount Olympus shone out from afar, the epitome of godliness hidden away from humans by swirling mountain clouds. At the bottom of the world lay the island of Delos. Craggy and rocky, sea battering it every which way, it was the only island to shelter Leto long enough for her to give birth to Artemis. The young goddess, in turn, aided her mother in her brother Apollo’s delivery. Thus, Olympus had cause for celebration. Zeus heralded the birth of his two children with lavish gifts for them both. The prize among them became the twenty four hours mortals had on Earth. Each twin became responsible for twelve hours, a perfect split. The godly son was given the sun, and all that fell under its domain. Music and poetry, the food of love, would lighten his spirits. His chariot, ushering the golden orb across the sky, would remind him of how hot and blinding its charge could be. Every sword had two edges, and Apollo would bear his with grace. He became the embodiment of warmth, of inspiration. Naturally, his sister became the opposite. The prodigal daughter was given the moon. The wild and the hunt would ground her, remind her of both its and her own duality. Her flight, nestling the moon amongst the dark and the stars would remind her of how cold it could be, yet mysterious and beautiful all the same. Artemis hefted this double edged sword with ease. She became the great huntress and healer, ferocious, untouchable. While Apollo took his lot jovially, without question, and ran off to bring the dawn of a new day as soon as he was dismissed with a ruffle of his sister’s hair, Artemis was asked to stay back. Unbeknownst to her, the king of the gods had one more gift for his new moon. For her bravery and assistance with the delivery of her brother, Zeus would grant Artemis one wish. 

“What is it you desire, my moon?” he asked her after Apollo’s exit. 

“Companionship,” said Artemis without a thought, “My brother may do and dally as he sees fit amongst mortals, but I will not. For my wish, I would like someone to share the Wild with. To hunt with. Someone no man shall taint or tarnish, a true maiden to accompany me on my adventures. I wish for a companion.” 

Zeus smiled softly down at her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He called for his chariot and departed. When he returned, he held in his hands a star from the night sky. Artemis watched as he molded it into the shape of a girl, breathing life into her. When she came to be, he presented the maid to his daughter. The goddess smiled and extended a hand for the star to take. She did, smiling as well. They clasped hands and Artemis felt pure delight arise in her for the first time. Here she had a star of her own, something neither her father nor her brother nor any man, mortal or otherwise, could touch. 

“What will you call her?” Zeus queried, and again Artemis smiled. 

“Phoebe,” she said. She thought it a perfect name. One honoring her grandmother, the titan goddess. Its meaning,  _ bright and shining _ , a reminder of her celestial origins. 

Artemis thanked her father before summoning her own chariot, taking her star,  _ Phoebe,  _ with her. As she descended towards the forest, she beamed with all the brilliance of the moon’s rays.

The Fates watched from above, ever silent, casting their judgements among themselves. Artemis’ fate foretold great triumph. The little star’s entwined with it promised great tragedy. But what were they to do? They were, after all, merely messengers. They could do nothing, save for watch the story unfold. 

Many have told the story of Artemis and Orion, how she flew across the sky and he charmed her. How Apollo’s jealousy drove them apart and killed the great hunter who took his place in the sky. This is not that story. This is the story of a star. And, as all stars do, she fell. Careening down from the sky, burning out in a blaze of glory, hurtling towards a destiny that would span centuries. 

The Fates spun her thread, unmoved, and readied their golden shears to cut it. 

—

Underneath the bottom of the world lay the ocean. As Leto searched for shelter and a place to bear her children, Poseidon looked after his own domain. The ocean was vast and wide and  _ empty.  _ Sea creatures roamed freely in the underwater kingdom, but with his wife Amphitrite gone off to handle diplomatic matters concerning the titans, the sea king drowned in his loneliness. 

Zeus could have the sky, Hades the underworld, he the waves. He was content in that respect. And yet, the god wanted more. What more entailed he hadn’t the faintest idea, until Amphitrite returned with the news she was with child. Overjoyed, the god felt his spirits lift. The answer to his dissatisfaction appeared as clearly as the sand beneath the waves. Yes, a child would do nicely. 

Triton’s arrival came with a gift, as all children of the gods became prone to receiving. Poseidon presented his son with a large conch shell. By blowing into it, the waves would be at his command. The boy delighted in his gift, and Poseidon felt his want wither away to nothing. For how could he crave more than this? His family, whole. It never occurred to him that his son would want more than he had. 

Triton’s existence gave him an exalted status. As prince of the seven seas, he was bowed to and fawned over everywhere he roamed. He grew tired of his lack of anonymity quickly, and found joy in sneaking up to the mortal world. He never left the water, merely watched from afar as the fishermen prayed to his father before casting their nets and hauling them in as they needed to. He returned to the sea when the day ended, slipping back into the palace and swearing anyone who saw him to secrecy. 

Naturally, when the sea king discovered his son’s treachery, he was furious. It occurred accidentally, one of the creatures speaking out of turn about the matter. That night, the ocean raged as father and son went head to head. The waves hurled themselves out towards the edge of the world and back in again while the sky opened up and poured out rain and bitter winds in retaliation. 

Triton’s saving grace was a distraction. A mortal’s boat capsized in the storm and he dove after it, using his speed and the waves at his command to waylay his father. He retrieved the body of the sailor and rushed it back to land. His first real interaction with he mortal world was overtaken by the task at hand. He finally gazed down upon the poor soul and discovered, quite shockingly, that it was a woman disguised as a man. He drew the water from her lungs into his own and she returned to life. 

Poseidon observed from the water and offered his son a choice. Live out his days in mortal form, or return to the sea with the full capabilities of a sea god. Triton took one look at the young woman he’d saved and his choice solidified. 

From that day on, he lived as if he were a mortal. When he married the woman, he invited his father and his mother to their wedding. As penance for his absence in his son’s life, Poseidon chose to grant the young man one wish. 

“What is it you desire, my son?” The king of the sea asked.

“The same which you wished for so many years ago,” Triton said, no trace of hesitation in his voice, “I wish for what my wife has long been denied. I wish for a child.” 

Poseidon smiled knowingly at his only son, nodding. He reached into the sea and formed the shape of a baby from a shimmering ball of water. Once the breath of life was given, he handed the child to Triton.

“What will you call him?” Poseidon queried, and Triton’s lips sloped gently upwards as he said, “Damen.” 

After the guardian spirit  _ daimon _ , who undoubtedly watched over him the night he became a human _.  _ Its meaning,  _ to tame _ , a reminder of the calm before the storm. 

Triton thanked his father and held his son,  _ Damen _ , close to his chest. A piece of the ocean would always be with him. 

The Fates observed this occurrence as well, their silence holding the weight of a requiem bell yet to ring. Once again, what could they do but watch as the fate before them came to fruition? 

Far fewer have told the story of Triton and his adventures, but this is not that story. This is the story of the sea. The sea holds, catches what sinks into its depths. And in its final moments, the sea will cradle its destiny in its arms and watch as it blinks out. 

The Fates spun his thread in silence and watched it unspool from their basket.

— 

In all of Phoebe’s immortal life, the thrill of the hunt never dissipates. The dogs barking as they race after their prey, armed maidens laughing on the whisper of the wind as the goddess they give their all to sprints ahead of them, beaming underneath the light of the moon. 

The air whizzes by and they are completely free, shielded by the cover of nightfall. As the first Hunter of Artemis, Phoebe considers it a privilege to roam wherever she wishes with the woman who brought her to life by her side. She’s helped recruit other maids to join their ranks, and as a result, eight worthy souls joined their eternal crusade. 

Artemis pauses, causing the young women to halt their steps as well. She signals to each of them to split off, so they may surround the objects of their capture quickly and effectively. Needing no further instruction, Phoebe slips off into the night, quiet as a breeze. 

She’s thankful for the swiftness of her feet as she runs, wide smile painting her pretty face. She retains the beauty she had when she was inanimate, or so she’s been teased by the other Hunters. It matters not; none of them claimed their right by Artemis’ side before she did. 

The crack of a twig breaking behind her has an arrow pulled from her quiver within seconds, strung up and nocked in the direction of the sound. Were its cause an animal, it would have scampered out by now. Which means the owner of the traitorous limb is mortal. 

The rules of being a Hunter of Artemis are few, but they are followed down to the letter. First, pledging unyielding loyalty to the goddess in exchange for immortality and a sisterhood unlike any other. Second, respecting nature and all the creatures who inhabit it. Third, no mortal interaction. And fourth, the most crucial rule of them all: no falling in love with a man of any kind. Ever. It is said that Aphrodite foreswore not to meddle in her sister’s affairs and has thus proven her word to be true. 

She weighs the options in her mind, but ultimately decides that should this mortal attempt to spy on her or her goddess, they must face the proper consequences.

“Come into the light,” Phoebe calls, keeping a steady grip on her bow. 

“The shadow suits me fine,” a voice returns, unmistakably male. Justice should be swift, then. 

“Come into the light or my arrow sinks into Artemis knows what orifice of yours.”

The voice says nothing, so she adds, “I never miss.” 

The mortal man steps forward, hands raised, a wary expression in his eyes. Phoebe has only ever seen mortals from afar, and now that she’s seen this one, she’s stricken by the similarities to herself. For one, he appears to be made in one of the gods’ images. Then again, all humans supposedly are. He is tall, golden hair shining underneath the pocket of moonlight in which he stands. His skin is paler than hers, but sunkissed, presumably from hours working underneath it. She wonders if his skin will feel leathered if she touches it, or if it will feel soft like Apollo’s rays. Then she curses herself for her treachery and speeds along her observation of him. She notices his eyes last, and it is intentional. Since she will never see him again, she gives herself an extra collection of seconds to savor the sight of such strange colored irises. They remind her of the sky. Blue, but more than their color entirely. The want of freedom beats out from those eyes, as well as a sense of wonder and curiosity. The latter reflects in her own, making them easy to recognize in his. The sky stares at her, studying as she had. Her brown skin lit aglow by the moonlight, the faint silver shimmer of the Hunters outlining the edges of her body. Slender as cypress roots with womanly roundness to spare. Curls spilling over her shoulders, a silver circlet keeping them away from her face. Her eyes are the hearth; warm, flickering in and out from burning to smoldering. She has the Earth in her and on her, bare feet standing strong in the dirt. 

“If I am to die by such a beautiful woman’s hand, I ought to know her name.”

His words settle in the air between them as she pieces them together. He looks less wary now, bolder, as though he hopes to ensnare her with his compliment. She remembers a warning from Artemis, how mortal men connive and conspire to trap maidens with flowery words. She remains thoroughly unimpressed by his display. Yet, amusement gleams away in her eyes as mischief enters his. They’ve entered a dance.

“Why were you spying on me?” Phoebe demands, forcing her features to appear colder and more intimidating. It works, although there’s the slightest sense of another emotion underneath his once again wary and slightly panicked expression, something unfamiliar to her.

“Not spying. Hunting,” he corrects, which causes her to scoff.

“What mortal hunts in the middle of the night?”

“By the looks of it… you.” 

That stops her directly in her tracks. He believes she’s mortal? She almost laughs. If she were mortal… Phoebe realizes the thought has never occurred to her before. She hasn’t the faintest idea of what mortality would entail.

A shrill whistle cuts through her silence and her head whips in its direction. A signal; their prey is nearly cornered. The hunt has almost concluded.

“You must go. Immediately,” Phoebe whispers, lowering her bow and stepping towards him. The voice in the back of her head that cautions against dangerous decisions sounds off and she ignores it. This is a matter of life and death. 

“You truly wish for me to leave?” he whispers back, and his confidence returns once more. Phoebe lets out a huff of air. Impertinent mortal! Is he wholly unaware she is trying to save his life?

“Yes,” she says quickly, and his look of disappointment is thankfully as fast as the spoken syllable. 

“Do you always hunt at night?” he asks her, and the expression on her face is two parts panicked, one part vexed, and one part confused. 

“Yes,” she replies, nodding urgently before glancing over her shoulder. She can feel Artemis’ presence approaching rapidly, and Zeus only knows what will happen if she finds them. 

“You never told me your name,” he points out, and she’s not quite sure if she’ll kill him herself or let her goddess have the honor.

“Phoebe,” the Hunter snaps in exasperation, “My name is Phoebe.”

“Was that so difficult?” the young man returns smugly and she bites back a shriek of rage. Noting the anger in her features, he finally turns on his heels and runs off. Not a moment too soon; Artemis appears with her dogs, clear concern in her eyes.

“Are you lost, my star?” the goddess queries, and the Hunter clings to the unwitting escape she’s been given.

“Yes. I am lost,” Phoebe replies. Her gaze flickers towards where the mortal disappeared off to, but she refocuses on Artemis within seconds.

“Come,” the goddess smiles, “To the hunt!” 

“To the hunt,” Phoebe echoes, pouring as much enthusiasm as she can muster into her shout. Artemis leaps ahead, and Phoebe spares one more glance behind her before following suit. 

The blood of a large stag stains the ground underneath their feet after the Hunters have captured it. Phoebe never watches a kill take place, no matter how merciful it is. Another source of teasing from the Hunters on her so called weak constitution, but she holds her ground amongst them. If she were human, she would not seem so weak, she thinks. Her eyes, already shut tight, screw up even tighter as she holds herself down. She will rest tonight and tomorrow when another hunt commences, she will return to normal. Phoebe’s eyes open and she shakily exhales. The Hunters make camp under the stars, and Phoebe nearly wishes she could return to the sky. What a shame that the sky in her mind is light and clear, devoid of stars in favor of an endless oceanic blue. 

—

She prays he will not come tonight. The night prior must never repeat itself. She will keep the memory of her one and only mortal encounter secret, no one will ever know. She has not betrayed Artemis and her sisters with a lone conversation. She has not forsworn her vows. She stays close to her goddess tonight, determined not to leave her side for anything in the world. It appears she and the mortal share a similar sense of determination, for he materializes from the woods the moment Artemis leaves to consult with another Hunter on the subject of their prey.

“Are you trying to die?” Phoebe hisses, and she’s surprised to feel alarm rising up in her chest when he raises his shoulders back to her and responds, “There are worse fates than death.” 

“Yes, such as being smited by a goddess,  _ which you will  _ if you do not leave.”

“Do you care so much that you cannot bear the mere thought of any harm befalling me?”

She hopes for the sake of humanity as a whole that all mortals are not as smug as this man is. 

To combat his smugness, she bites back, “I care not to clean up the mess your stinking ashes will taint this place with.”

He concedes to her point, grinning as though he won some hidden victory for himself. The content of his mind matters not to her; so long as he leaves this place in a timely fashion.

“Why are you hunting in the middle of the night?” he asks her quietly, and immediately she is on the defensive.

“What business is it of yours?”

He grimaces, “None, though-”

“And therein lies your answer. None. Will that satisfy your curiosity?”

“No,” he admits, “Will these few words satisfy yours about me?”

“You think I am curious about you?” she laughs before quickly falling silent in the hopes that no one heard her. As vexing as this mortal may be, he is not incorrect in his assumption. Her pride refuses to allow her to admit such treachery, but she has a feeling he is well aware of her forbidden intrigue. 

“I am curious about mortals. That is all.”

“You are not mortal, then.”

“You can see the silver glow engulfing me, yes? It is the blessing of Artemis.” 

“A blessing indeed,” he hums softly, and she’s overcome by the distinct sensation he is no longer speaking of her Hunters’ mark. 

Artemis’ hounds begin to bark and a sense of urgency returns to Phoebe.

“Leave,” she orders him, and he pouts at her.

“You aren’t even the slightest bit interested in learning my name before we part ways forever?”

“With your persistence in mind I highly doubt we will part ways forever,” Phoebe grumbles underneath her breath and his mouth turns upwards in satisfaction at her comment.

“Damen,” he says, and it suits him. 

“Damen,” she repeats, “Leave.”

He bows to her, halfway playful, “As you wish, Phoebe.” 

Once more he steals off into the night as her goddess returns. 

“Were you speaking to someone, my star?” Artemis queries gently, a peaceful smile on her face. 

“The sky,” Phoebe responds, and she believes her words are not untrue.

“I see,” Artemis hums, “And what did the sky tell you tonight?”

“To be careful,” the Hunter answers, and the goddess beams down at her.

“The hunt calls,” she says, enthusiasm bubbling up in her eternally youthful features.

“The hunt calls,” Phoebe agrees wholeheartedly, and together they return to the Hunters.

Blood spills and Phoebe turns away from it, her eyes once again closed. Behind her eyelids is a mortal boy on the edge of self extinction by a goddess’ wrath, and she cannot stop the smile creeping across her lips. 

“Growing stronger, are you, Phoebe?” one of the Hunters sneers, and she stares at them as levelly as possible.

“Every day,” Phoebe replies, lips curving into a snarl that begs for retribution. The other Hunter backs down, and Phoebe goes about making camp. She spoke correctly earlier; this night would not be the last they saw of each other. She merely overlooked that it would be  _ her  _ doing intertwining their paths when next they met.

—

Day is busy. It is loud and chaotic and there are mortals  _ everywhere _ . While Artemis and the Hunters slept, Phoebe snuck out from their encampment. With the blessing of her goddess, her skills not only shine in archery, but navigation as well. Finding her way out of the forest was simple. The bustling hub of life and humanity that rolls on before her is a challenge she’s never seen. 

Phoebe observes the men and women, taking note of their differing clothing, hair, and tasks. When the opportunity presents itself, she sneaks forward, snatching a discarded chiton and himation to cover herself with. The sandals she finds pinch her feet and her curls fall into her face after she removes her circlet but she is truly no worse for wear. She promises to return the garments to their rightful owner before she departs to the forest. Then, she takes her first steps into the mortal world. 

Everything is bright and harsh. There is laughter and singing and shouting and water pouring and animals screeching and scents flowing  _ all at once.  _ The night is stilled, sacred, meant for respect and reverence. The glow of the moon shows only what must be seen, where the sun hides none of itself, nor anything its light falls upon. 

It is close to effortless, blending in with the crowds of mortals going about their daily activities. They all have places to be, meaning their attention glides over her without so much as a second consideration. Unfortunately, the further she heads into the city, the more lost she becomes. Phoebe refuses to panic (she’s still an immortal being, she can get herself out of this), distracting herself by subtly taking in her surroundings. The masses of polished rocks gleam as she walks by, altars to the gods already filled high with offerings. She smiles at the tributes to Artemis near the houses of the hunters. Her loss of direction is replaced with further intrigue of the mortals and their mundane affairs, and she nearly misses the shocked murmur of, “Phoebe?”

She whirls, eyes widening for fear she’s been caught and will be smited promptly. She is met with Damen and the sight of his disbelieving expression, which quickly turns to concern. Her lips curve upwards as a sense of self satisfaction settles upon her. 

“And the hunter becomes the prey,” the woman murmurs back, although his expression confuses her still. More than concerned, he looks  _ scared _ . She is unsure of how she knows, but she is certain he will not let his fear bleed through for a less than worthy cause.

“Is it safe for you to be here?” he demands, and she shakes her head. If any of their interactions were safe, they never would have met. She cannot let him risk their fate for this friendship without an equal contribution on her part. The familiar mischievous glint enters Damen’s eyes as he says, “If that is so, then we must make this day worthy of an immortal goddess.” 

“Hunter,” she corrects, a small smile playing her lips. 

He mumbles something underneath his breath before amending, “Hunter.”

He steers her away from the forge they stood near, and before she can stop the question, it comes.

“You are a blacksmith?”

His amusement rings clearly as they walk.

“At times.”

“Yet you worship Posiedon and not Hephaestus?” 

She’d seen the altar with offerings close to the door. Shells, water smoothed rocks, scales; all signs of the sea. 

“My father does. He is a fisherman, as am I.”

“A blacksmith  _ and  _ a fisherman?”

“Not all may reap the benefits of an eternal hunt and a goddess’ protection.”

She wants to tell him the hunt comes with consequences of its own, but her mouth remains shut. As their steps wind through the streets, they talk, and she learns. He works in the forge every other day, taking to the tides and fishing the rest. He loves crafting and repairing weapons (his eyes sparkle and his hands move faster and faster). Fishing passes the time well enough; he wishes to sail and conquer the waves. He is grounded in his home, and she discovers the purpose is it is all he knows. She places her hand over his when she hears this, and delightedly notes his skin is neither soft nor leathered. The calluses on his fingers are tempered by the smoothness of his palm. 

“Not a word,” she warns, seeing his mouth open, those eyes peeking out with undoubtedly rakish intent. He laughs and begins questioning her over her experiences. She tells him of her adventures with Artemis, the thrill of sprinting through the woods nightly in pursuit of their prey. Her volume lessens as she describes the kills, and he squeezes the hand that has not released his. 

He takes her to the ocean and she throws herself into it without fear. They drench themselves in the water, whooping and howling and she believes if this is what it is to be mortal, she can see why the gods are constantly tempted. Phoebe’s temptation to run her hands along Damen’s chest rises when he strips off his shirt, discarding it away from the water. She yearns to discern whether the skin there is smoother or rougher than his hands. He catches her gaze and his lips curve, so she glares at him until he relents. 

“Are you not sworn to Artemis?” he teases as she dries herself on the sand.

“Silence your tongue,” she shoots back, shifting her head away from him. 

After a stretch of silence, he asks, “Is this the last day?”

She does not want to lie to him, and answers, “It should be.”

“Is it?” he presses on, and she returns, “I do not know.”

He does not like her answer, this she can tell by the set off his shoulders and the continued lack of noise between them. She lies back, sand scattering into her hair as she peers skyward.  _ It is almost dark _ , she notices absently before bolting up off of her back. 

“I must go,” Phoebe tells him, and all he does is nod. Something inside of her cracks at his casualness, but she brushes those feelings and herself off.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, “for today.” Her knees return to the sand, arms wrapping around his body and holding him to her while her lips dart against his cheek. She does not give herself time to think before she detaches, save for the realization that he held her back. Phoebe races back towards the forest, discarding her mortal disguise and donning her normal clothing and circlet. She flings herself down minutes before Artemis awakens from her slumber and calls her Hunters for another night. Phoebe hides her weariness behind the newfound invigoration spurred on by her discovery of the mortal world. Her shouts of joy are the loudest of all tonight.

—

Damen teaches Phoebe about humanity every day. In return for his lessons and company, she helps him with his work. She’s quite adept at fishing and takes to smithing rapidly as well. They trade off on experiencing sparks of pride in each other. When he successfully hits a target with a bow for the first time, he picks her up and swings her around in his elation. He waits a beat too long to release her, but she pays it no mind. When she finishes her first sword, she leaps onto his back in triumph. He spins happily enough before she gets down, embracing him from behind. She breaks away soon after, returning to her place and ignoring the escalation of her heartbeat. Their friendship grows stronger each day, a bond solidified by the Thargelia, a festival in honor of the divine twins on their birthdays. The Hunters are free to wander through the night, and Phoebe goes running to Damen. She is not unaware of the women that eye her with disdain while fluttering their eyelashes at him, but her night of freedom will not be marred by petty developments.

“We will dance,” she declares, and the wild, sharp edged grin on his lips is all the encouragement she needs. She takes his hand and leads him off, their feet jumping and twirling amongst the other revelers. Wine is poured and they take a few cups. Not enough to be gone in the liquid, merely to lower their nearly nonexistent inhibitions. They end up laughing on the beach again, swaying together as their feet move forward. 

Phoebe looks at Damen. He’s smiling for once, genuinely smiling. His grip on her waist is tight, though not uncomfortable or disrespectful. He smells of ashes and sea salt and something distinctly  _ Damien.  _ And his god forsaken eyes seem to glow, lit up by the euphoria flowing through him. He is warm and solid and she wonders if she kisses him if he will taste like wine or how he smells. 

Her feet stop moving, arms automatically curving around his neck. He freezes but she continues to move, her head slowly tilting up towards his. Her actions are no longer in her sensible mind’s control; the inevitable changing of the guard for her heart to take over drives her movements. She can feel him in front of her, hardly daring to breathe as she is. Their foreheads are an inch away from touching before he whispers, “No.”

Something in her expression must betray her minor heart shattering for he speedily adds, “This cannot be.”

“And what reason have you for that?” she challenges, fighting down the fear and the hurt threatening to seep out from inside her. If she’s going to bare her heart and have it cast aside, he owes her an answer.

“The same reason you have for trying to kiss me.”

“Which is?”

“Love.”

She feels as though she’s been dumped headfirst into the ocean. His face is contorted, tortured, troubled and she wants to ease his pain but she cannot see past her own. 

“You cannot love me, Phoebe,” he reasons, “which is why you tried to kiss me. To see how it would feel.”

His frustration and heartache are audible, yet she remains frozen, rooted to her place in his arms as she stares up at him while he eyes the waves crashing on the shore.

“Do you truly believe me to be that baseless?” she whispers, frigidity masking her emotions. She laughs afterwards, a harsh and bitter sound, one that sparks confusion from Damen. She tries a different approach.

“If I told you I loved you, would you believe me?” 

He says nothing, and it becomes clear to her that she needs to show him proof of her affections. Phoebe places her hands against Damen’s face and turns it towards her. She  _ needs  _ him to see her. 

“Believe me,” Phoebe whispers, skimming her nose against his and pulling him down to kiss her. He wastes no time in returning the gesture, increasing its pacing and intensity. She follows it blindly, losing herself in the feeling. He takes her bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it, and she groans. Her tongue slips into his mouth and he crushes her closer as one of her hands move to curl into his hair. She breaks away from the kiss solely to breathe, opening her eyes and ensuring his gaze rests upon her before she speaks.

“Do you believe me?”

He shows her the extent of that belief when he fits himself to her in the sand. Phoebe buries her face in his neck as he whispers to her, telling her everything except the three words they both refuse to say. The soreness between her hips is well worth the high that accompanies it, and afterwards, she cannot imagine a sweeter pain. There is so much unsaid and spoken between them, but Phoebe presses a kiss to his shoulder and closes her eyes. Her smile widens as she feels Damen’s lips against her hair, and she falls asleep to the barely whispered utterance of, “I believe you.” 

—

In hindsight, Phoebe does not understand why she chose a life of chastity and chasing. Then, there is the indisputable fact of him. Damen, lying in her arms, slumbering peacefully. Her reasoning and sense return to her at Artemis’ arrival.

“Traitor,” the goddess roars, “Deceiver!” 

Damon jolts awake beside her, eyes wide to find a genuine goddess before them. Or rather, that is all Phoebe can interpret through her haze of fear. She pulls her chiton on and approaches cautiously, apology written across every feature. Fury rolls off of Artemis in waves. It is nearly tangible, almost palpable, a roiling mass barely contained only by the fracturing willpower of an immortal maiden. The sand beneath her feet scratches her where it caressed the previous night as Phoebe attempts to convey her sorrow. 

“My goddess, I did not intend to deceive you.”

There is not a single shred of belief on the goddess’ face.

“You have forsaken yourself for a mortal man. You have betrayed me and every single one of your sisters.”

“No! I - ”

Artemis raises a hand, and the sand underneath Phoebe’s toes sharpens, beginning to harden and burn. She hisses in pain softly, but the goddess is devoid of pity. 

“Enough. It matters not the intent - you have lain with a mortal man.  _ My star _ .” 

Phoebe flinches at the way the final two words are spat at her. They couldn’t have hurt more had they been coated in venom, which they as may as well be. Glass crystallizes, slicing into her feet. The shards embed themselves deeper as Artemis delivers her decree. 

“You wish for humanity more than my companionship? So be it. From this day forth, you are human. You will live amongst the mortals for all eternity, and you will do so  _ alone _ . In every lifetime you seek, you will be met with pain and heartbreak and loneliness. Remember you chose this, my star. You chose a mortal over a goddess.”

The goddess snaps her fingers, swirling away in a silver haze. Phoebe lifts her arms and watches as the silver glow dissipates from them. She looks down to find blood trickling out from her feet, red instead of gold. She is stripped, as Artemis described. Mortal. 

Shock overtakes her body as her knees buckle, and Damen catches her. Tears flow freely and she screams as the curse takes effect. Pain spirals out from every inch of her body. The glass is inside of her, she is certain, stabbing away at her insides and forcing her to struggle through every jagged swipe. Her body convulses and she writhes as Damen frantically lowers her to the ground. Her head wobbles as she fights for breath, eyes turned out towards the horizon.

Through her pain filled haze, Phoebe watches a wash of foam bubble up. It stretches and expands, shaping itself into the outline of a woman. She materializes before them, sparkling as she approaches. The rosy pink aura confirms her identity, yet Damen names her regardless.

“Aphrodite.”

The goddess beams at him, taking a seat beside Phoebe’s shivering body. She places a hand to her forehead and murmurs a few unintelligible words. Her pain halts, as though someone placed a dam in between her and the horrific unwinding of her mortal soul. Wide eyed, Phoebe carefully lifts herself into a sitting position.

“I did not take the curse from you, should your thoughts turn that way,” Aphrodite informs her, “I merely paused its effects on the severance of your mortal coil. It will resume in full force once I depart.”

“Why did you come?” Damen demands in an embittered growl, and Phoebe sends him a look that explains they need not anger  _ two  _ goddesses in one day. Aphrodite merely laughs, her head shaking as though he asked her why pegasi flew. 

“My sister refuses the bonds of love at all costs. When one of her Hunters fell, I had no choice save for intervention.”

“It was you,” Phoebe gasps, her mouth dropping slightly before she finishes, “You provided me clothing and hid my mark.” The glow had been gone for days; Phoebe never took notice.

“Yes. And for a love as powerful as yours, it was a small price to pay. Onto the matter at hand - I cannot lift the curse. Only the two of you can, and it must be together. The blood of the gods runs through your veins, Phoebe. Damen, I give you my blessing, though I must make you mortal as well. Your fates are sealed, intertwined for all eternity. For the seven days and seven nights it took you to fall, you will have seven chances to save what has been lost. You will not walk through eternity alone, but will find each other. At the end of your life, you will die. If you die in your seventh life, you will feel my sister’s curse in full effect.”

Phoebe and Damen’s faces must be filled with aching, for the goddess says, “Do not despair, my children. I must leave you - I have spent far too much time here. Remember, you will find each other. Always.” 

Aphrodite rises, and the pair rise with her. They come together in a fierce embrace, quite literally holding onto each other as though they never will again.

“Find me,” Damen whispers, clutching Phoebe to his chest.

“I swear,” Phoebe whispers, and before Aphrodite, their vow is bound. 

The goddess snaps and Damen yells, succumbing to the pain of Artemis’ curse as it overtakes him. 

“For you, Phoebe, I have one final gift,” Aphrodite whispers, taking the woman’s shoulders urgently, “In order to find him, you  _ must  _ find yourself.  _ Find yourself _ , Phoebe. When you do, you will gain the freedom you so desperately seek.”

She releases the former Hunter and snaps. Phoebe hits the ground, shuddering, screaming as the pain begins to claim her as well. 

“I grant you this wish,” the goddess murmurs into her ear,  _ “ _ the key to your freedom and your destiny.”

The glass twists at her and she cries out, sobbing, begging for a release from her misery. Aphrodite disappears with her lips pressed to Phoebe’s forehead, and through a small miracle, she hears her wish granted.

_ “Kiara.” _

The world fades, taking Phoebe and Damen with it.

The Fates smile as the golden shears cut their thread. 


End file.
